


Rules of the Game

by CelestialIguana



Category: ATEEZ (Band)
Genre: Anal Sex, Established Relationship, Explicit Sexual Content, Hair-pulling, M/M, Not Beta Read, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Smut, i love the others too i promise, light dom/sub?, perhaps, sorry only half of ateez shows up, woosan are good boyfriends
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-07-17
Updated: 2019-07-17
Packaged: 2020-06-30 05:16:20
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,081
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19846351
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/CelestialIguana/pseuds/CelestialIguana
Summary: “I am going to have you two removed for public indecency if you don’t stop this second.” Seonghwa clutches the TV remote in his hand like some kind of anchor for his patience, slowly slipping away with the receding tide.Wooyoung wipes his hand across his mouth in an effort to look slightly less debauched. He isn’t sure it worked. “This is our apartment too, so it’s not technically public indecency.”“If I accidentally push you down the stairs, it’s not technically murder.”San squints. “Uh, I actually think that would count-”Seonghwa snaps his glare to San. “Try me.”





	Rules of the Game

Wooyoung hates whatever show Seonghwa has playing. But the couch is comfortable and he has squished himself perfectly into that special crease and he doesn’t think he has the strength to remove himself, so he watches anyway. It won’t be for much longer, after all. Once Hongjoong manages to put his laptop away, they’ll all go for dinner.

And then San strolls into the room, walking like he owns the place even though Seonghwa is sitting  _ right there,  _ and all the calm and relaxation Wooyoung had been feeling disappears. He has blonde hair now, and although it looks a little crunchy Wooyoung has to admit it looks… good. Really good. The color only accentuates his pale skin and high cheekbones, so sharp he could cut himself on them. Wooyoung is so whipped for this man. San grins and squeezes himself onto the couch next to him, worming his way under the blanket.

“Enjoying the show?” And Wooyoung does  _ not  _ get distracted by his dimples, no sir, not strong, mature Wooyoung.

Wooyoung groans and rolls his eyes, resting his head back on San’s shoulder. “I have no idea what’s going on, and Seonghwa won’t let me change it.”

“If you’re too lazy to reach for the fucking remote, you don’t get to pick the show.”

“You are actually going to die one of these days,” Wooyoung hisses. He closes his eyes, leaning farther into San’s chest. Seonghwa glares at him.

“I can’t hear your threat over the sound of how absolutely disgusting you two are.”

San laughs. Wooyoung can feel the vibrations deep in his chest. And then he also feels a hand stroking down his side gently, thumb rubbing small circles into his ribs and slipping beneath the blanket covering both their legs. He glances up to meet San’s eyes.

“We could be so much worse, don’t you think?” San teases, fingers still caressing Wooyoung’s hip with soft strokes, drawing random shapes over the bruises still gracing his skin from the other night. Part of Wooyoung wants him to press harder, make the faint blue-ish purple marks darker, but most of Wooyoung is hyper aware of Seonghwa sitting  _ right there,  _ less than three feet away, and he doesn’t think he wants the elder knowing any more about their relationship than he does. San’s hand slips a little lower, getting into territory dangerously close to where Wooyoung wants it most with a burning fever.

Wooyung grabs his wrist. “San,” he whispers. “Seonghwa.”

San lowers his lips to Wooyoung’s ear, breath warm against his skin. “Isn’t it  _ exciting, _ though?” The way he says  _ exciting  _ should be illegal, Wooyoung decides. The way he speaks in general should be illegal, but particularly when he does that  _ thing  _ with his voice, where it gets deeper and raspy and he really can’t handle that right now, not when Seonghwa is within earshot.

San’s gentle rubbing turns a little rougher, and he suddenly pinches Wooyoung’s thigh. Wooyoung flinches, a tiny gasp escaping his lips. He glares at San and tries to wriggle out of his hold, but San swings a leg over both of his and he can’t move.

“You’re just going to have to be quiet, I suppose,” San says into his ear. “Can you do that?” Wooyoung does his best to look annoyed but San makes it so hard when his hand is inching closer to Wooyoung’s waistband by the second.

“Can you do that?” San asks again, a little sharper, teeth nipping at Wooyoung’s ear. Wooyoung barely manages to hold in the whimper threatening to slip from his lips, one because it’s much too early in the game to give San that kind of power and two, because Seonghwa is still watching his stupid show three feet away.

“Yeah,” he chokes out, voice as low as possible but still seeming far too loud. “But there’s an empty,  _ private _ room literally next door-”

Wooyoung closes his mouth with an audible snap as San’s hand presses down on his dick, swallowing the moan he’d been about to make and instead breathing hard through his nose. San snickers quietly.

“What were you saying, Youngie?” The nickname drips with false sweetness, and Wooyoung doesn’t even need to look at his face to know that a self-satisfied smirk stretches across San’s lips. He lets out a little worldless croak of helpless arousal. The heel of his San’s grinds down on Wooyoung’s crotch, the thin material of his sweatpants providing no protection against the dancer’s efforts. Wooyoung gasps slightly, unconsciously canting his hips into the wonderful pressure.

San’s other hand grips Wooyoung’s hip tightly, pressing him down into the couch that Wooyoung will certainly never look at in the same way again. His fingertips press bruises into his pale skin, but Wooyoung doesn’t mind. He likes to look at the bruises later, little marks of passion decorating his body.

San holds Wooyoung still under the blanket, one hand on his hip and the other on his dick, and, with Wooyoung unable to resist, he leans down and captures his lips in a searing kiss, tongue slipping into Wooyoung’s mouth with practiced movements. Wooyoung relaxes into the kiss, almost but not quite forgetting about the burning pressure in his gut as San’s lips move roughly against his.

A cough. San jerks away, lips red and swollen, but his hand stays, a teasing pressure that Wooyoung can’t stop thinking about. Seonghwa sits on the floor, face dark. “I am going to have you two removed for public indecency if you don’t stop this second.” He clutches the TV remote in his hand like some kind of anchor for his patience, slowly slipping away with the receding tide.

Wooyoung wipes his hand across his mouth in an effort to look slightly less debauched. He isn’t sure it worked. “This is our apartment too, so it’s not technically public indecency.”

“If I accidentally push you down the stairs, it’s not technically murder.”

San squints. “Uh, I actually think that would count-”

Seonghwa snaps his glare to San. “Try me.”

Hongjoong walks in just as San opens his mouth, saving both San’s life and Wooyoung’s sex life in one movement. He seems perfectly unaware of the situation, computer held under one arm and car keys in the other hand. He smiles.

“I finished!” he announces, grabbing Seonghwa’s arm and dragging him off the floor. Seonghwa goes without complaint, dark expression clearing steadily with Hongjoong’s sunny influence. “Let’s get dinner.”

Wooyoung doesn’t move, partly because the couch really is too comfortable but also because San’s warm weight still presses down on his hips, pinning him beneath the blanket. Even if San’s hands weren’t there, the difficulty of disguising his hard dick in sweatpants would be… hard. 

“Uh.”

He glances at San, raising an expectant eyebrow. San grins at him, lopsided.

“Youngie and I are going to eat here tonight,” he says. He lifts his legs off Wooyoung and stands up, stretching languidly. He purposefully shifts the blanket as he moves, corner sliding to the floor. Desperately, Wooyoung manages to catch it before it flutters completely to the ground, exposing him and all his aroused glory for the rest of the room to see. He tosses a glare at San, who just winks.

Hongjoong shrugs and throws an arm around Seonghwa’s shoulders. “Guess it’s just you and me.” Seonghwa looks relieved. The two turn to leave, Seonghwa flipping San off behind his back as they do so.

The door barely snaps shut when Wooyoung stands up, throws the blanket off his legs, and walks San backwards against the wall, hand on his chest.

“I am mad at you,” he hisses, running his hands down the lines of San’s shoulders. “You were going to make me-”

San grabs his wrists and flips their positions, pressing Wooyoung into the wall. A light switch digs into his back, but he doesn’t care. His skin burns where San touches it.

“You liked it,” San says. He grips Wooyoung’s hair, tugging his head to the side and leaning forward to nip at his neck. “I could tell.”

Wooyoung gasps at the sharp tingle in his scalp, the pain travelling down his spine to settle in a hot mess in his stomach. “I have work tomorrow,” he manages. San’s teeth dig into the soft skin of his neck.

“That’s so sad,” he says, flatly. “Wear a scarf.” The assault on his neck continues at full force, teeth and tongue biting across the skin without precision.

Wooyoung struggles to pull the brain cells necessary for speaking together. “I’d pull on your hair,” he manages, breathless from arousal, “but it would probably break.”

San pulls back from his neck, mouth agape. “I am hurt that you would assume my hair is unhealthy,” he says. “I condition it every day.”

The hand not in his hair sneaks down his body, slipping under his shirt and rucking it up under his arms. Wooyoung shivers as the cold wall touches his bare skin. “It looks crunchy. Like how Mingi’s hair looked-”

San pinches one of his nipples harshly and Wooyoung squeaks. “Let’s stop talking about Mingi and my potentially unhealthy hair while I’m trying to fuck you, yeah?”

“Then get on with it, won’t you? You’re teasing too much.”

San pulls Wooyoung off the wall and into their room, kicking the door closed behind him. Wooyoung backs into the bed and gracelessly flops into a sitting position on the end of the bed.

“Have I been teasing too much?” San asks, eyes dark and smile sharp, with precisely the tone that means things were about to get a lot worse. Or better, depending on your personal opinion.

Wooyoung narrows his eyes. He’s still hard, heat burning through his veins and frying the neurons in his brain that normally register danger and lines that shouldn’t be crossed.

“ _ Yes,”  _ he hisses, tugging at San’s belt loops. “Just- come here already.”

San doesn’t listen to him, because he never does, and insteads lowers himself to his knees in front of the bed. He rests his hands on Wooyoung’s thighs, lips quirked in a grin.

“Take off your shirt.”

Wooyoung complies, because this means less clothing in between him and San’s hands and that can only be a good thing. His shirt is dropped to the floor without care.

San’s slender fingers slowly undo the tie on Wooyoung’s sweatpants, the tie that literally had no purpose and no one actually has to tie up, but San takes his time undoing it anyway because he likes to see him suffer. It’s odd, really, that even though San is the one on his knees, Wooyoung has little power over the situation.

But finally, finally, his pants are undone and San slips them off his hips, along with his boxers, and Wooyoung sits on the bed completely naked while San kneels, wearing way too many clothes.

“Take off your shirt,” Wooyoung whines, reaching for the article of clothing, but San twists out of the way and grabs his dick, halting Wooyoung’s movement in its tracks.

“I don’t think I will,” he muses, hand doing absolutely nothing but holding Wooyoung’s dick and Wooyoung thinks he might die if San doesn’t do something right this second. Because everything’s too hot and yet not hot enough all at once. His hips buck into San’s hand in search of some kind of friction, but San grins and releases his grip.

“I really think we should talk about this,” he says, spreading Wooyoung’s legs apart with strong hands. “It’s important that we understand each other.” He lowers his lips to Wooyoung’s cock, mouth just barely touching the tip, and Wooyoung is literally about to pass out. He has no idea what San is talking about.

“Talk?” he gasps, abs flexing in an attempt to keep his hips still. “About what?”

San smiles, and Wooyoung can  _ feel  _ it. “This teasing thing. Am I really teasing too much? Because relationships work through communication, you see, and I really want us to be on the same page-”

“San!” Wooyoung snaps, patience fraying like the tentative hold he has on his self-control. “Fucking touch me!”

“Patience is an important trait also- hmph-” San’s voice cuts off as Wooyoung grips his jaw and shoves two fingers into his mouth, pressing down on his tongue.

“If you don’t put your mouth on my dick right now, you’re not fucking me for a month, I swear to god, Choi San.”

San closes his lips, sucking around his fingers. He nods a little, although Wooyoung knows he hasn’t won the war. He removes his fingers from San’s mouth. The blonde’s tongue flicks out to wet his lips, before he lowers his mouth to Wooyoung’s dick once more. 

This time San takes him in his mouth without unnecessary conversation, and Wooyoung moans at the sudden heat. San keeps his hips pinned to the bed with one hand, using the other to jerk him off in time with his mouth. Wooyoung’s hands tangle into San’s hair, which, despite his words, is quite soft. He tugs lightly, pressing San down further, and the elder groans and relaxes his throat around his cock, sending vibrations up his whole body. San carefully grazes his teeth against the sensitive underside, sucking hard. He looks up, long lashes lowered over his dark eyes. Wooyoung almost comes right then, falling apart under San’s tongue.

San takes a breath and pushes himself farther down Wooyoung’s dick, swallowing around it carefully. Wooyoung jerks in San’s grip, moans slipping from his lips, trying to fuck into his throat, but San keeps him still with a firm hand.

“San,” he gasps, eyes glazed over.

San pulls off, lips red and shiny, precum and saliva smeared down his chin. Wooyoung whines at the sudden lack of stimulation. “Wouldn’t the no fucking thing also punish you, though?” San asks, stroking Wooyoung’s cock with a delicate hand, the movement at odds with the casualness of his words.

Wooyoung tries to remember what San is referencing, tries to remember what little loophole he had planned. “Uh, well, I only said you couldn’t fuck me. I could still fuck you.”

“I think that’s still a punishment for you,” San says, grinning. His hand stills on Wooyoung’s dick. The younger pants slightly, not really registering anything San’s saying. He reaches down to touch himself, to come, because the pressure in his gut has been building for what seems like an eternity and idiot Choi San won’t stop  _ fucking talking. _

The idiot in question grabs his wrist, letting go of his cock all together.

“You can’t do that,” San says, as if he were saying  _ the sky is blue  _ or  _ Seonghwa’s a bitch _ . A fact of life. Wooyoung can’t touch himself, simply because San said so, and that’s what the game’s about, in the end.

San stands up from his knees and pushes Wooyoung back into the bed, hands pinning his wrists to the sheets. “Keep them there, yeah?”

Wooyoung huffs, irritated and aroused out of his mind, but his hands don’t move when San releases them. San finally, at last, takes off his shirt, and at the last second Wooyoung remembers he isn’t supposed to move his hands. San grins.

“Here’s the game today.” His voice is light and casual, but his hands drag heavily over Wooyoung’s body, lingering on faint marks from previous nights but avoiding his cock all together. Wooyoung fights to keep his hips on the mattress. “You say I tease too much, so when it gets to be too much, tell me, and you can come.” He presses harder into finger-shaped bruises and a moan slips between Wooyoung’s teeth. “Easy, right?”

But no, not easy, because when San says  _ tell me  _ the words he’s really looking for are  _ beg me,  _ and Wooyoung is stubborn and prideful and doesn’t like to give in. He glares at San, or does the best he can, given the circumstances.

San waits a few seconds, just enough time to give Wooyoung an out. Wooyoung doesn’t want an out, he wants to come, but he appreciates San’s care. Right now, he’d just really liked to be fucked.

“Yes, yes, easy,” he groans, because San likes to here verbal confirmation that Wooyoung is falling apart. 

With a self-satisfied grin, San undoes his belt and slips out of his jeans. How he does it so easily in jeans that hug his legs like a second skin is beyond Wooyoung, but he’s more focused on San’s ass than whether his long legs comply with the laws of physics. Maybe they don’t. With the way he dances, it’s a perfectly reasonable hypothesis.

Wooyoung gasps as a cold finger brushes his entrance, feather light. Somehow, without him noticing, San found the lube, although to be honest, a bulldozer could drive through the apartment and Wooyoung probably wouldn’t notice he’s so far gone. 

But not far enough to beg yet. (He’s getting there, but San doesn’t need to know how close he is.)

San’s long fingers trace his inner thigh with gentle, calculated movements, tapping random patterns against his skin. He presses fingertip into Wooyoung, ever so slowly, and it’s cold, because San can never be bothered to warm up the lube. Wooyoung hisses at the temperature, but he can barely feel it and it’s not anywhere close to being enough. He fights back the whine of protest that builds in his throat.

“Something wrong, Youngie?” San asks. Wooyoung can hear the smile in his voice, can feel the smugness just radiating off him. He tries to grind his hips down but the finger moves with him, refusing him the pleasure.

“You have to ask for what you want.” San’s finger presses deeper a Wooyoung wants to die, but he thinks he’d like to die with San fucking him than with San teasing him.

A little more of him breaks when San suddenly thrusts his index finger all the way in. Wooyoung bites back his moan, bringing one of his hands to cover his mouth, before he remembers that he wasn’t supposed to move them. He tries to sneakily slide his hand back into position, but San catches his wrist, fingers slipping out of him in the process.

“You weren’t supposed to move them,” San whines, and Wooyoung doesn’t think San has any right to be complaining about anything when he’s lying here going out of his mind with arousal, cock so hard it’s almost painful.

San leans over the side of the bed. Wooyoung can’t find the resolve to look, but San’s motives quickly become clear. The long sleeves of Wooyoung’s discarded shirt wrap around his wrists before looping around the bed frame behind him, and honestly, Wooyoung’s surprised it took San this long to tie him up.

“Out of patience?” Wooyoung asks, although the mocking tone comes out more breathless than he intended. He tests the makeshift ropes with tentative tugs, but San’s knots stay firm.

“Just trying to make this easier for you,” San murmurs against his skin, dragging his lips down Wooyoung chest. He leaves bite marks across his ribs and Wooyoung instinctively moves to grasp San’s head, only to feel the bonds aborting his movement.

“Come on, San,” he says, although his voice sounds like its coming from miles away. San’s a bastard for resorting to ropes. He knows what it does to Wooyoung’s resolve. “Fuck me.”

San sighs, pouring more lube onto his fingers. “I suppose that works for now, but I expect at least a  _ please _ later on.”

Wooyoung can’t even think about the implications of that right now because San’s fingers are back, and less gentle than before. He thrusts two fingers in, crooking them in just the right way that sparks of pleasure ripple down Wooyoung’s spine. His body arches off the bed with the sudden influx of friction, so far removed from the feathering touches San used leading up to this, and gasps fall from his throat.

San grins, looking completely calm and collected even though his dick says otherwise. Wooyoung’s a pretty good top, if he does say so himself, but he doesn’t have nearly the self-control San has, and San likes to prove it at every opportunity, like the bastard he is.

The fingers scissor inside of him, rubbing closer to his prostate with each smooth stroke, but never enough to bring Wooyoung closer to the edge.

“God, San,” he groans. “You’re so  _ mean _ .”

“Only for you,” San quips, inserting a third finger. He doesn’t wait for Wooyoung to adjust to the sudden intrusion but begins thrusting immediately, forcing Wooyoung to relax around his fingers. “But don’t you think you’re ready now?”

Wooyoung does think he’s ready, has thought he was ready for the past five minutes, but asking for it means giving San more of a power trip and his ego’s already fucking  _ massive.  _ But heat is pooling in his gut he doesn’t think he can resist much longer.

“Yeah,” he says, desperately trying to keep traces of whimpers out of his voice. He doesn’t think was successful. “I’m ready.”

“I said I wanted a please, didn’t I?”

“San.” Wooyoung groans through his teeth as San ruthlessly massages his prostate, other hand reaching up to stroke his dick, red and leaking at the tip. “San, just fuck me already.”

The stroking stops and Sam grips the base of his dick, hard, fingers pulling out of Wooyoung’s hole. Wooyoung whines at the sudden lack of stimulation, hips rebelling against San’s grasp.

“Just ask nicely,” San insists, voice low. He brings his hand up to Wooyoung’s mouth and smears the mixture of precum and lube across his lips and cheek. Wooyoung’s face burns. (In the best way.) San’s hand strokes down Wooyoung’s face and rests at his throat, not applying any pressure, but implying that he could, and the realization bring Wooyoung a little closer to the edge.

The hand on his dick tightens until it’s unbearable and Wooyoung breaks with a breathless gasp. “ _ Please,  _ San, please stick your dick in me, I am  _ dying-”  _

His voice breaks off as San releases his neck with a quick bite to his collarbone and slips on a condom with ease, searching for the little bottle of lube lying somewhere amongst the wrinkled sheets. He presses the tip of his cock against Wooyoung’s opening and just- holds it there, not pressing in at all.

“I don’t know, Youngie, that didn’t sound very sincere-”

Wooyoung snaps. “Choi San, fuck me right now or I’m dumping your ass, I’ll fuck Seonghwa, I don’t fucking care-”

San pushes all the way inside in one thrust, hands bruisingly tight on Wooyoung’s hips, and Wooyoung moans, high pitched and airy. His hands clutch at the shirt tying them above his head. 

“Let’s stop talking about Seonghwa in bed,” San says, voice raspy, as he punches Wooyoung’s breath out of his chest with each thrust of his hips. 

“Uh huh,” Wooyoung moans, unintelligibly. He doesn’t think he’s capable of saying anything else; the friction is overwhelming, everything sensitive and burning. San knows where his prostate is, doesn’t even have to try to tilt his hips in exactly the right direction, almost shifting Wooyoung up the bed with the power behind each stroke.

Everything feels like too much and yet somehow not enough. San finds his rhythm, long, even thrusts pressing deeply into Wooyoung with each movement, fingers leaving bruises on his hips. One of his hands tangles itself in Wooyoung’s hair, pulling his head up sharply so he can see where San enters him.

The combination of the pain tingling through his scalp and the sight of San’s dick thrusting into him sends a shock of heat coursing through his veins. He drops his head back onto the sheets and grinds down as hard as he can, body straining to meet each of San’s thrusts. He feels himself reaching the 

“So eager now, aren’t you,” San remarks, as if he’s talking about the weather. “But you never asked me sincerely, so I think we should work on that, don’t you think?”

Wooyoung tries to wrap his arousal-addled brain around what San just said. “I did ask you, though,” he protests. San’s thrusts slow to a steady grind, nowhere near enough for what Wooyoung needs.

“Threatening to fuck Seonghwa diesn’t count as sincere.” San’s eyes darken as he takes in the sight of Wooyoung, hands stretched above his head, accentuating the long lines of his body and the sharpness of his jaw, blushed red with precum dripping down his dick. 

“Fuck you, sure it does.”

San kisses down Wooyoung’s neck, nipping at the pale skin with his teeth. “Just say it,” he murmurs softly, breath ruffling Wooyoung’s hair. “Please fuck me, San, I love your cock so much, I’m begging you, San, please.” He pitches his voice higher and breathy in an approximation of Wooyoung’s, although Wooyoung doesn’t think it’s very accurate.

“My voice doesn’t sound like that, excuse me-” His voice cracks as San fucks into him hard, breaking his train of thought.

“Come one, Youngie, beg for me and I’ll let you come.”

“I think you’re just having performance problems,” Wooyoung hisses, preoccupied with not letting San win the game this time more than the burning heat in his core. San laughs and presses deeper inside him.

“Does this feel like a performance problem?”

“Doesn’t feel like a fucking, that’s for sure.”

San’s eyes narrow. “I know what you’re doing, and it’s not going to work.”

Wooyoung’s arms strain against his binds again, but they don’t budge. “Untie me,” he says. “Untie me, and I’ll fuck myself on your cock, because you can’t seem to do it.”

San grins, but it’s a sharp grin, one that sends shivers down Wooyoung’s spine. “You’ll get there,” he mutters, more to himself than Wooyoung, but Wooyoung hears it anyway.

(It’s true, really. Wooyoung likes to bite back, let his pride take over, but eventually, he breaks. Like most things do when faced with the hurricane that is Choi San. And it’s wonderful.)

San starts moving again, quick, savage thrusts of his hip, fucking into Wooyoung with a kind of strength he hadn’t used before. Wooyoung moans at the friction. His hands flex, searching for something to grip, and his body arches off the bed to meet San. San strokes his dick with his free hand, twisting up and down over the head, the action made smooth with the amount of precum leaking from the tip.

Wooyoung whines, trying to thrust into San’s hand and down onto his dick at the same time. His body stutters awkwardly in confusion as San rolls his hips into his with sharp movements.

“Ah, San-” Wooyoung gasps brokenly. “San, pleas-” His two remaining brain cells manage to cut off the plea at the last second, although it doesn’t slip San’s notice.

“Did you say something, Youngie? Do you need to come?” His hips never stop moving, never give Wooyoung a moment in which to breath.

“I- yeah, I need it, San-” He hates that San’s going to win, but he also doesn’t think he can handle holding himself back any longer.

San grins, speeding up his strokes. “You feel so good, Youngie, if you don’t ask to come soon then I will, and you’ll have to get yourself off afterwards.”

Wooyoung curses, head spinning. “Fuck, San, just let me come,  _ please.” _

“I think I wanted more than please, though?” San says, eyebrows furrowed like he’s asking Wooyoung the question, like Wooyoung knows what the fuck is happening right now with San’s dick five feet up his ass.

“Oh my god,” Wooyoung moans, so close to coming he can see little black spots in the corners of his eyes. He scrambles to remember what San had wanted him to say, minutes and eternities ago.

“San, I love your cock, please, let me come, I need it so badly-” The words rush out of his mouth in a breathless onslaught and he can’t stop them, even if he wanted too. He sounds wrecked. Wooyoung thinks he’s actually going to die if San doesn’t let him come right now.

“See?” San says, cheshire grin making Wooyoung feel things he shouldn’t be feeling. “Was that so hard?” And then his hand picks up speed and his thrusts become longer, until Wooyoung’s vision whites out and he comes with a shivering gasp, spilling over San’s hand. San groans as Wooyoung clenches down on him hard.

San fucks him through it, and then keeps going _ ,  _ because he’s a bastard, and Wooyoung moans at the overstimulation.

“You feel so good, Youngie, so hot when you beg for me.” San’s rhythm stutters as he approaches his climax, thrusting deeply into Wooyoung until he throws his head back in ecstasy. He groans Wooyoung’s name as he comes, and Wooyoung doesn’t think his name has ever sounded better than when it’s coming out of San’s mouth in the midst of his orgasm.

San carefully pulls out, taking off the condom and tossing it in the trash a few feet away. Wooyoung relaxes into the sheets, feeling pleasantly fucked out and loose. He’ll have to change the sheets later, but that’s not a concern for now. Of course, San interrupts his dozing.

“Still wanting to fuck Seonghwa?”

Wooyoung groans, closing his eyes. “Fucking untie me and maybe I won’t.”

San laughs, reaching for the makeshift bonds. “I won, you know.”

“I think it was a tie.”

“It was not! You were begging for me!” San protests.

Wooyoung drops his arms, sighing in relief as the tense muscles find reprieve. San grabs hold of one and starts massaging it.

“I won, come on, Wooyoung, please?” And Wooyoung can’t resist San when he’s looking at him with those wide, innocent eyes. He sighs.

“Fine. You win.” There isn’t a prize for winning, and there aren’t really any rules to the game. No one keeps track of wins and losses. Wooyoung wouldn’t even say there  _ are  _ losses, but somehow, that’s the way things work. And somehow, he knows the game doesn’t have an endpoint.

The apartment door slams open and Seonghwa’s voice leaks through, the two back from dinner.

“Put some fucking clothes on,” he calls. “My eyes are sensitive.”

San laughs, falling back on the bed to lay beside Wooyoung, snuggling his head into the younger’s shoulder. He glances up to meet Wooyoung’s eyes.

Wooyoug shakes his head slightly, a little grin adorning his face. “Let’s not go outside, yeah?”

So they don’t.

**Author's Note:**

> I love Seonghwa don't take this the wrong way :)


End file.
